


I'll Paint You Wings (I'll Set You Free)

by karlbourbon



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist!Jim, Body Paint, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karlbourbon/pseuds/karlbourbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loves Jim—he really, truly does—but when Jim is looking at him with this unadulterated affection in his eyes, Leo has to swallow back the lump in his throat and look away before the butterflies explode out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Paint You Wings (I'll Set You Free)

Leo shivers at first. The strokes of the brush tickle and the paint is cold, and laying naked on his tummy like this is a whole new kind of vulnerability. Jim, equally naked—Leo has no idea why, is straddling the backs of his thighs and the weight should feel reassuring, but honestly he feels a little bit like a trapped animal.

Jim’s eyes on him feel different; he’s still gazing at him like a lover, but now there’s this assessment underneath (or perhaps it has always been there and Leo just hadn’t noticed before). Leo feels like he’s being sized up; he’s being splayed open, bare bones and flaws exposed to the world. He loves Jim—he really, truly does—but when Jim is looking at him with this unadulterated affection in his eyes, Leo has to swallow back the lump in his throat and look away before the butterflies explode out of him.

Despite the dark direction his thoughts are traveling, another swipe of the paintbrush has a giggle leaving him in a rush; Jim smacks his bare ass, smiles a toothy smile even though Leo can’t see, and warns him to _behave._

The heavy emotions of the moment are dispersed further when Leo grumbles, “These linens are white—you better not drip any paint on them.” He groans and adds as an afterthought, “If you paint my ass, so help me...”

"They’ll wash," is all Jim says in reply.

There’s not much talking between the two of them. The silence is comfortable. The only sounds in the room are rustling bed sheets, soft breaths, the occasional fart of a paint tube, and the distant patter of rain on the windows.

Jim has his tongue poking out from between plush, pink lips as he paints across the expanse of Leo’s tan freckle-littered skin. Yellow as bright as a newly bloomed dandelion on a summer morning. Shades of blue, ranging from as deep as a brilliant sapphire to as light as the palest of morning skies. White as pure as marshmallow fluff. Greens that glitter on top of ocean waves. Black as dark as a night sky with no stars or moonlight. Purples that flit like a hummingbird from flower to flower. Red and orange that burn as bright as fire.

It feels strange, to be under Jim’s hands like this. There’s no reason for it to be any different than when they make love, but it is and Leo can’t help but squirm. The longer Jim works, the more he feels like he’s under a microscope and it’s uncomfortable.

"Bones," Jim sighs, exasperated. "Will you stop your movin’?"

"Then quit lookin’ at me like that."

"Like what?"

Leo tries to get up and turn around to have this conversation with Jim face-to-face, but Jim stubbornly refuses to be dislodged from where he’s perched on Leo and pushes him back down.

“Looking at you like what?” Jim repeats. He doesn’t sound angry (though his slightly forceful actions could be construed that way), just honestly confused, like when he talks through whatever movie or tv show they happen to be watching and consequently causes both of them to miss major plot points.

“Like one of those pieces that hangs in a museum to be gawked at,” Leo says with a defeated sigh once he accepts that Jim is stuck to him like a limpet. He buries his face into the pillow in front of him and sends a prayer up to a god that he's not sure he believes in for a black hole to somehow appear and swallow him up. Or aliens will abduct him. It's stupid; he knows. He hadn't expected these insecurities to pop up when Jim mentioned that he wanted to use Leo's body as a canvas—hell, he hadn't even been aware of their existence, but here they are rearing their ugly heads. Leo knows Jim, knows Jim loves him unconditionally; he just struggles with loving _himself_ sometimes.

An amused sound escapes Jim before he can stop it. Leo tenses and half expects Jim to laugh at him, having realized the deeper issue. But Jim gets it, he always does, and comes through with reassurance. “You’re more beautiful than anything hanging in The Louvre,” he says matter-of-factly. He punctuates his next few words by tapping the thin handle of his paintbrush lightly against Leo’s side. “And if you think I’d let anyone _gawk_ at _you_ … I’m selfish and you’re _mine_ , Bones, I’m keeping this view all to myself.”

Leo flushes at that; between the two of them, Jim is always the one who is good with words. He falls silent and allows Jim to concentrate on finishing whatever has been painted on his back.

It only takes a couple of minutes before Jim is bounding away, yelling for him to _hold still, don’t you dare move!_ over his shoulder as he runs for one of Leo's cameras.

Jim is back just as quick as he had disappeared, landing with a loud _oof!_ on the bed.

The insane amount of mechanical clicking sounds lets Leo know Jim got a fair number of pictures from who knows what angles, and he takes initiative and carefully sits up before Jim can make any kind of protest.

Jim just smiles and hands him the digital camera so he can look at the pictures instead of awkwardly maneuvering to see his back in the full-length bathroom mirror.

Leo hadn’t had any idea what Jim had been painting, wasn’t even sure what he had expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t this. It’s difficult to tell on the tiny camera screen, and Leo pads into the bathroom anyway to see the details firsthand. Jim follows and leans against the counter as Leo examines what Jim’s painted. On his back, all the way from his shoulders to his tailbone, stretches the _universe._ Colorful planets, a swirling galaxy; Jim had even made it look like the stars were really shining.

Leo’s breath catches in his throat. “It’s beautiful, Jim.”

"You’re beautiful."

And with the way Jim's eyes are shining—radiating pure honesty and love—Leo knows he means it.


End file.
